


Moribund Thedas

by BewareOfShleets



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Apocalypse, Dark, Dystopia, F/M, Freeform:Magic+Veil+RedLyrium - Freeform, Gen, Horror, Moral Ambiguity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-15 14:09:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15414681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BewareOfShleets/pseuds/BewareOfShleets
Summary: When Ellana's freedom finally came, it flooded her in waves if red and found the future Thedas is on the precipice of destruction from spread of Red Lyrium and the collapse of the Veil. Alexius's amulet is broken and the little Dalish will soon learn that freedom is riddled with choices and consequences.Moribund -adjective- in a dying state; near death.





	1. Chapter 1

Moribund Thedas

/

Prologue

/

Ellana never understood the shem ways. Her time in ‘captivity’ with them certainly did not make them any easier to understand. They complicated things with everything. To the type of metal they used for their eating utensils, to the type of fabric used for their clothes, even the meat they ate to survive. All and each had a meaning to the shems. A show of status.

And they were trying to conform her, a lowly Dalish elf, to their ways.

They stripped Ellana of her leathers, her weak looped amour; they removed her weapons carved from wood, bone and poorly welded iron. Each held a meaning to Ellana’s life. They were her gifts from her clan, to her they meant something. But to the shems, it meant something as well.

Poor.

Decrepit.

Wild.

Inadequate.

Unacceptable.

And so, she was forced to wear, forced to carry, forced to embrace a life that was not, nor ever will be, hers.

The anger that stowed in Ellana’s heart increased daily, with each change of clothes, with each new boots, shirts and leather bindings. They chaffed her, restricted her. She felt restrained, unable to bend down without her leather pants creaking; unable to reach out the with feeling of the cloth pulling her shoulders back.

They upgraded her weapons. Her daggers became more elaborate every time a richer noble came to Haven; finer leather wrapped around the grip, a gem crowned on top of the pommel, the scabbard more elaborate than the previous. The blade is heavier, her sweeps and strikes are weak, sloppy, sullied.

Her bow, made from a good Oak Palm, removed. She’s given a new one. ‘Sturdier’ they said. The wood is stiff, she struggles with bow string, too taut in her opinion. She fails every shot.

But it looked good nestled on the back of their Herald of Andrastre. The daggers showed Inquisitions strength in arms. Her clothes displayed the Inquisitions wealth.

It all held a meaning to them.

They, the Inquisition, were gracious enough not trim nor style her hair. Her long black hair was braided from her right side, a long string of red spindleweed weaved in and out of her plait, starting at point centre of her hairline. An extra short length hung behind her left ear, the end hanging with the tip of her black hair. At the base of her crown the braid was dreaded; the tips were fine, delicate still, reaching past her knees. It showed her age within her clan. The heavy weight of her hair was wrapped around her shoulders, nestled in between her clans old yellowed shawl. The threaded spindleweed and the large shawls on their shoulders was a representation of her clan. The Clan Lavellan. But not to the shems, they don’t know. All they saw was an animal. Feral and wild. So, they wrapped her hair in fabrics and strips of leather, to hide the disgraceful untamed braid. And by that they hid her from her own people.

June etched her golden face; black curved hooks shaped her cheeks and brows. The shems asked in fascination behind the meaning and they all but laughed; mocked her God that held no meaning to them. They left her face alone, reminding not only themselves but also to Ellana that she did not belong among them. These were not her people.

A Dalish elf was not suited for captivity and yet they held her with words and threats of death should she leave. The gaping magic wound in the palm of her left hand was a constant reminder of what she meant to every single Inquisition shem. She was the messenger, the Herald of Andrastre, the healer of the skies. She felt nothing of the sorts, but she understood the power she held over the shems. Should death come to her, it would tear asunder their Andrastre and their Maker, and Ellana relished in that thought.

She hated them! Hated them for the propriety, hated them for their arrogance, hated them for her captivity.

She wanted to be free to roam the forests, the plains, the beaches. To roam and scout far and wide, to search for food and threats, while the Halla chose their routes, from Rivain to the Free Marches.

Being Dalish meant freedom. _‘Never again shall we submit.’_

And on that fateful day, when she crossed the drawbridge and through the portcullis of Redcliffe castle, that she would come to terms with the power she held, and the freedom she so dearly desired.

When her freedom finally came, it flooded her in waves of red.

/

/

No Beta

/

 _Moribund_ —adjective

-in a dying state; near death.

-on the verge of extinction or termination.

-not progressing or advancing; stagnant.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Moribund Thedas

/

Chapter 1

The tall stone structure of Redcliffe castle had nothing to the gleaming white-gold of Val Royeaux. Void of glimmer or shine the impenetrable fortress of Redcliffe stood proudly on the red stone cliffs where it perched as red lichen bled up its battle-worn grey walls. The castle had earned its name well. The soil, rich in orange, bore little to no vegetation save for a few spindly cords of bleached grass. Though the lack of vegetation was one Ellana seldom placed a concerned thought for she was unnerved by the lack of occupants within the red walls. The local occupants.

Five Tevinter guards poised in front of them once the portcullis closed; bodies erect, arms behind their backs, horned brass masks shone gold in the noon sun. Not a word uttered from anyone’s mouth as the winds caressed along the dry grounds of the lower bailey and through the workshops manned by no one, and in between stable doors vacant of any beasts. A lone bare tree stood in the far-right corner, a single dry corpse hung from a thick branch, the ominous creaking of the rope swayed with the wind.

To her left a rumble brush her ear “Herald.” Ellana gasped, cocking her head to Blackwall. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”

It took mere few seconds for her already pounding heart to settle. Once more she is forced to negotiate inside four-walls. The thought of it—Oh, how she wished could grasp the blade in the small of her back, or even the one nestled along her right thigh, to stance, to sate her anxiety with a blades edge.

But the words the words of the Spymaster was deep and firmly placed.

_‘Don’t, you show fear.’ Spoke the Spymaster._

How badly she wanted to wipe the trickling sweat behind her neck.

_‘Don’t, you show weakness.’ Whispered the Spymaster._

One foot in front, here she goes. Her brows quivered. It was difficult not to frown, not in anger, but one of foreboding. The Tevinter guards parted, moving in twos, flanked them on each side –the middle lead them forward. The noon sun caught their shadows, black horned creatures surrounded Ellana –the largest, the widest stood directly behind her, The Iron Bull’s shadow ate her whole.

Caged, again. She felt so small.  

The lead guard boomed against heavy doors three times, Redcliffe’s Keep maws opened inwards, the Bulls shadow disappeared, vanishing inside the low-lit antechamber. They followed in till the guard stopped just before a trail of red carpet, the Keep doors crashed closed, the rush of wind brushed over low-lit brazier fires to a flicker.

“Announce us.” Ellana's voice resounded immediately, her eyes concentrating onto the red-blood rug.

A blond man approached them. “The Magister’s invitation was for Mistress Lavellan and no one else. You lot wait here.”

Ellana’s heart skipped a beat, her gaze lifted towards blue eyes. She stood there for a second, sifting through her thoughts. What would sound appropriate? “They go where I go.” She then informed firmly.

The retainer’s blue eyes narrowed at her orange embers before flitting behind her.

_‘You are the Herald; your words hold more power than you believe they do.’ Soothed the Spymaster._

He nodded once, turning where he stood and walked up a set of stairs, flanked by two horned guards. She led the remaining party behind.

Ellana eyes scanned the inner Keep of Redcliffe; dark curtains were drawn closed, the torch-braziers burned low and red, the air was stagnant and still. This belly of the castle reminded her nothing of the Haven’s chantry or Vivienne’s grand chateau. There was no life save the ones surrounding her; no staff feathering off dust, no one bowing, no one praising Andrastre. Only darkness greeted her and though she was no stranger to the darkness, a trickle of fear travelled down her spine. This darkness was unnatural for the sun that blazed just outside the stone walls.

“My Lord Magister, the agents of the Inquisition have arrived.” Announced the retainer, the guards beside him, as well as those beside her small entourage removed themselves to stand in between thick wooden columns.

Alexius, garbed in rich red and bronze robes, rose from the wooden and iron throne, taking a single step to gaze down at Ellana from the throne. “My friend! –" The Magister declared with open arms. “—It’s so good to see you again. And your associates, of course.” He dropped them back to his sides as he began to slowly descend the dais. “You’ve met my son, Felix? I’m afraid you caught him at a bad moment at our previous gathering.”

The younger man bowed down at them from the platform.

The Magister stopped halfway, “As for our meeting—” a terse smile crossed his lips before taking the last few steps to stand across from Ellana. “—I’m sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to both parties.”

The large fire behind Redcliffe’s throne burned Ellana’s eyes, the heat unpleasant upon her front as was the cold pressing behind her back. “Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?” Fiona wheezed cutting past the pillar, stopping behind her.

Ellana bit her cheek and for a second closed her eyes, Oh, she wanted to get out and finish this Inquisitions business. The room was too dark, blood trickled up her nose, death was just behind her. “Let’s get down to business.” She snapped.

Alexius chuckled, averting his attention back to Ellana “It’s refreshing to meet someone so goal-orientated.” He crossed his gaze to the circle mage, sending a cautionary glare before ascending back to the throne.

“The Inquisition needs the mages to close the Breach, and I have them. So, what shall you offer exchange?”

Exchange? What could the Inquisition give him that would be worth the mages?

_‘Just make him talk. We want to avert his attention away from his surroundings.’ Ordered the Spymaster._

What would make him talk?

Gold? No... Josephine would not like that... maybe.

Connections? Not likely, even Sera was not interested in that.

Time Magic…? Uhhh, where would she start with that.

Her death? They wanted her dead, but no one from Tevinter had openly attacked her. Her eyes flitted towards the young man besides the Magister. What would a small band from Tevinter want with the Inquisition, more so, herself. Tevinter, old and powerful, would have a firmer hold in Fereldan, but they did not. The only had a foot in. Tevinter would bring upheaval to any country, yet there was none. Magister Alexius was Tevintern involved in a... cult.

“The Ventori...” she slipped out.

Alexius’s eyes gaped for a second, the heat in Ellana’s front grew as the Magister narrowed his eyes. “Now, where could have heard that name?” he asked slowly, rapping his fingers on the throne handle.

“I told her.”

Magisters head cocked towards his son “Felix, what have you done?”

Ellana swallowed the knot that rose in her throat. “Why are you really here?” Ellana released, her voice louder than she intended “You wanted me here. Why?”

Alexius gripped the handles of the throne “Do you know what you are?” he hissed, raising from his seat again, his eyes holding contempt “You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark—a gift you don’t even understand—and think you’re in control?!” He cocked his head to the side as his eyes examined Ellana up and down.

 “You’re nothing but a mistake.” Alexius spat, pacing along the dais “It was to be a triumphant moment for the Elder One, for this world.”

Her hand itched so terribly for the hilt of her dagger, Oh, what a small comfort it would be. She shuffled her right foot ever so carefully back, her heart pounding painfully within her chest.

“Father, listen to yourself! Do you know what you sound like?!” Felix pleaded towards his father.

“He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliché everyone expects us to be.”

Ellana’s breaths stilled.

“Dorian.” –stood just behind her as the old Magister bared down on them. “I gave you a chance to be a part of this. You turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.”

Faint footsteps lurk behind her; the blade on her back burned for release as Alexius continued. “He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas.”

“You can’t involve my people in this!” Fiona cried, her voice pitched, too afraid to thrust herself forward.

Dorian seethed beside her. “Alexius, this is exactly what you and I talked about _never_ wanting to happen! Why would you support this?!”

“Stop it, Father. Give up the Venatori. Let the southern mages fight the Breach, and let’s go home.”

“No!” Alexius shot back at his son, his voice laced with anguish. “It’s the only way, Felix. He can save you!”

“Save me?”

“There _is_ a way. The Elder One promised. If I undo the mistake at the Temple...”

Undo what happened at the Temple? Ellana’s ears perked. _‘—to reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition Alexius distorted time itself.’_

“I’m going to die! You need to accept that!” Felix grieved.

Alexius shook his head as he stepped back from his son, he sucked in a large gulp of air “Seize them, Venatori!” he boomed out towards the guards. “The Elder One demands this elf’s life!”

Inquisition men stood in place of Venatori guards.

“Your men are dead, Alexius.” Spoke the Spymaster, her boots clicked as she walked towards the throne, stopping just behind Ellana and flanked by the Bull and the Warden.

Everyone behind her, no one beside her.

Alexius contorted in rage “You... are a mistake!!” the Magister fumed through his teeth ripping at an amulet from around his neck, his eyes concentrating on Ellana as green plumes spilled from between his fingers. “You never should have existed!” And the amulet hovered at his palm, luminating lighter as the seconds went on.

Dorian brushed past Ellana, his staff aimed at a sweep, the focus crystal glowing violet. Ellana charged after him, flicking the dagger into her left hand out from behind her.

 _‘Alexius claimed the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you. —Alexius distorted time itself.’_ She wanted to go home, to have her elder sibling Mahanon alive. She would easily give her life for his. She never wanted any of this to happen.

“NO!” both Alexius and Ellana cried out. Her dagger skimmed along Dorian’s staff.

Let the humans worry about this Elder One. The Dalish wanted nothing to do with human politics. The Dalish wanted nothing to do with any of them. They wanted to be free –and she world offer herself freely if this amulet could take her back before all this. _Never shall we submit._

Her left hand scorched in pain as green bolt raced along the dagger landing on Dorian’s focus crystal. Her vision bathed in green as she blinked her eyes shut and then red as live blood when she opened them. 

/

/

No Beta

/

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moribund—adjective
> 
> -in a dying state; near death.
> 
> -on the verge of extinction or termination.
> 
> /
> 
> While this idea has already began by someone else, the idea for me is very old; just late in joining the party. I have a morbid fascination with dystopian, post apocalyptic scenarios, and ghoul Leliana was the tipping point for me, no one else. 
> 
> I plan to make this as realistic as possible. And dark as possible. I'm not going to hold back - and that sounds quite lame for me to even say it. 
> 
> The next chapter will be where it all starts and will not "exactly" follow the game story-line because to me, all that info you learn is not feasible. Especially with certain topics known in DA lore. It does not fit in with the lore.
> 
> I played Trevelyan first and her countenance and dialogue was what I expected from someone who was of a noble house. Then I played Lavellan and found the experience quite lacking, the Dalish dialogue was great but it lacked the contempt I was hoping for when switching races. And I switched all because Solas, he's the reason I switched! That fucking egg...
> 
> Thank you for any reviews or kudos! 
> 
> I'm never going to rant like this again.
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


End file.
